


Conversation With Tim

by Ytteb



Series: Conversations [2]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 08:19:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14516241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ytteb/pseuds/Ytteb
Summary: The team resigned at the end of Season 10 - this explores what could have happened afterwards.  A lot of talking ensues ...Possible spoilers for the end of that season.





	Conversation With Tim

Tim McGee and Tony DiNozzo emerged coughing and spluttering from the cloud of dust kicked up when Ziva David accelerated away in her shiny red sportscar.

“Gee, thanks, Ziva,” said Tony.

“You all right?” asked Tim.

“What?”

“You know …”

“No, I don’t know.”

“Well, you know, it’s OK to …” began Tim.

“To what?”

“To … to …” Tim gestured towards Tony’s eyes.

“To what?” asked Tony as he wiped his eyes.”

“… to cry,” said Tim.

“Cry?”

“I understand,” said Tim.

“Understand what, McCryptic?”

“That you’re sad.”

“About what?”

“About … you know.”

“You got a new career setting crosswords?” demanded Tony.

“What?” asked Tim as he took his turn in being confused.

“You speak in riddles, Probiesan.”

“I do?”

“McGee!  What are you talking about?”

“Honestly?” said McGee, “I’ve forgotten.”

Tony sighed, “You were telling me it was OK to be sad.”

“It is,” agreed Tim.

“And that it was OK to cry.”

“It is,” affirmed Tim.

“But I wasn’t.”

“What?  Sad or crying?” asked Tim.

“Both.  Neither.  Whatever,” said Tony.

“But you were crying,” insisted Tim, “And what do you mean, you’re not sad?”

“I wasn’t crying,” insisted Tony.

“Huh!” said Tim in a disbelieving tone, “Tony, I’m a trained investigator, I have excellent observational skills …”

“ _If you say so,”_ muttered Tony.

Tim ignored this, “And I saw water coming from your eyes.  Ergo …”

“ _Ergo?_ ” said Tony.

Tim decided to ignore this too, “ _Therefore_ I surmised that you were crying.”

“Hah!  I had grit in my eye … and _ergo_ my eye was _watering!_ ”

Tim looked at Tony thoughtfully before patting him on the shoulder, “It’s OK, Tony.  I _know._ ”

Tony groaned, “What do you _know_ , McWrongendofthestick?”

“You know …”

“No, I DON’T KNOW!”

“You and Ziva …”

Tony sighed, “What about me and Ziva?”

“You …”

“No … I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“OK, have it your own way …”

“Thank you,” said Tony fervently.  “Now, can we move on?”

“Of course,” said Tim, “But, you know …”

Tony groaned again and buried his head in his hands.

“But,” continued Tim, “You know …” he was interrupted by another moan from Tony, “I mean, I’m here for you … if you need me to be.”

Tony raised his head and gazed at Tim, “I want to say thank you … but I’m not sure my brain could stand the strain of you being there for me.”

“I was just trying to help,” said Tim huffily.  “You know, be supportive.”

Tony got a grip of himself, “And I’m very grateful, McStBernard.”

“But?” asked Tim suspiciously.

“But?” repeated Tony.

“It sounded like a but was on its way,” said Tim.

Tony grinned and put his hands on Tim’s shoulders and squeezed them, “No buts,” he insisted.  “Although …”

“ _Although_ could be seen as another type of but,” suggested Tim.

“You been at your thesaurus again?” asked Tony.

“No.  So, no but …”

“No,” agreed Tony.

“But an although?”

Tony’s brow wrinkled as he tried to think this through.

“Yes.  No but but an although.”

“So?”

“So, I’m dying here, McTiemeinknots … which is really _not_ my thing, by the way.”

“So … what was the _although_ for?  And I would like to put on record …”

“What’s going on?  You think we’re in court or something?”

“No.  I just wanted to say that I think there was a but waiting to manifest itself.”

“Tim,” said Tony firmly, “Half a geological era ago – when I was still young and hadn’t gone through the trauma of you _being there for me_ – I was going to suggest that we go get something to eat.”

“Oh,” said Tim.

“At Carlucci’s,” said Tony.

“At _Carlucci’s?”_ gasped Tim.

“The very same,” confirmed Tony.

For a moment, Tony feared Tim was going to begin another debate, but he was wrong, “Let’s go!” said Tim eagerly.

“Thank God,” breathed Tony, “But you’re driving,” he ordered.  “On account of me not having a car … on account of the evil insurance company not trusting me anymore.”

“Sure,” said Tim.

“ _Sure?_ ” asked Tony.  “No instructions about not eating in your car?”

“No.”

“Or not drinking?”

“No.”

“Or closing the door too loudly?”

“No.”

“Or slouching in the seat?”

“You coming or not?” demanded Tim.

“On your six!” responded Tony.  “Oh …”

“What?” asked Tim.

“You think that applies now?”

“What you mean?”

“Well, we’re not co-workers any more, are we?  You know, having just handed in our badges.”

“Oh,” said Tim.  “I guess.  But you know, I’m always here for you …”

Tony groaned, “Tim, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the thought but … I can’t do all that again.  Can we just go to Carlucci’s?  You know, before we take root here or get arrested for loitering.”

Tim grinned, with just enough of a hint of evil that Tony began to suspect he’d been suckered.  But, as Tony looked, he decided there was also real sympathy in Tim’s eyes and he decided to acquit him – for the moment.

NCISNCIS

Tim was almost vibrating with excitement as Tony directed him to Carlucci’s but was dumbfounded when Tony told him to pull up outside Lucio’s Ristorante about ten minutes from the Navy Yard.

“It says Lucio’s,” said Tim accusingly.

“You were right,” said Tony, “You do have excellent observational skills.  Well done, that man.”

“But you said we were going to Carlucci’s.”

“We are,” said Tony, “Carlucci is the head chef here.”

“But you always talked about this great Italian restaurant called Carlucci’s,” said Tim accusingly.

Tony shrugged, “A little misdirection,” he confessed.

“Why?” demanded Tim.

Tony’s face hardened for a moment, “Oh, I don’t know, McHonestasthedayislong, how come you never told me about your _ticket_ contact?”

A herby, garlicky, _Italian_ smell wafted towards them, “Good point,” said Tim.  “So, we going in?”

Tony grinned and made a bowing gesture to usher Tim forward.  Tim frowned – it seemed that the closer Tony got to the door of the restaurant the more _Italian_ he became.  A suspicion strengthened when they got inside and were greeted by a stream of rapid Italian to which Tony responded enthusiastically as they were swept to a table in the window and supplied with menus and a dish of olives.

Tim looked around, “I can’t believe I’m here,” he said.

Tony had often spoken of the marvels of Carlucci’s but had somehow always avoided revealing its exact location and Tim had sometimes wondered if it really existed or was just one of Tony’s smokescreens.

“Well,” said Tony, “Today’s a big day.  Everything changed today.”

“It did?” asked Tim.

Tony looked surprised, “Sure.  We quit.  We did quit, didn’t we?  I mean, handing our badges into Vance wasn’t just a figment of my overactive imagination, was it?”

“No,” said Tim, “We resigned.  And Ziva drove off.  And you cried.”

“I did not cry,” said Tony.

“Whatever,” said Tim.

“All right,” said Tony, “I will admit …”

“Hah!” said Tim triumphantly.

“I will admit that I felt a touch of … melancholy.”

“Melancholy?  What …”

“Melancholy – it means …”

“I know what it means,” snapped Tim.

“Good.  ‘Cos I was puzzled.  What with you having been at the thesaurus.  And being a McAuthor and all,” he seemed to sense that Tim might start another protracted conversation so decided to try and head him off at the pass.  “Sure, I was a little melancholy … a little _wistful_ , if you will.  It’s the end of an era.”

“Not really,” said Tim.

“What?”

“Well, it’s not really the end, is it?”

“What do you mean?”

Tim opened his mouth to explain but was interrupted by the loud arrival of a very excited chef who pounced on Tony as if he was a long-lost millionaire relative.  Tony became even more Italian under Tim’s fascinated gaze.  The chef eventually wound down and turned to Tim and said, in perfect English,

“And this must be McTim.  It is a pleasure to meet you.  Antonio has told me so much about you.”

In other circumstances, Tim might have been offended to find he was known by a nickname but somehow, he found his heart was warmed by the thought that Tony had spoken of him so affectionately.  He held out his hand to shake and found himself wrapped in a warm embrace instead.

“And Tony … Antonio … has told me a lot about you … or your cooking anyway!”

Carlucci beamed in yet more delight before snatching the menu out of Tim’s hand.  Tim experienced a momentary worry that he had somehow caused offence and was going to be ejected from the restaurant.

“You will not need these!” said Carlucci sternly.  Tim swallowed anxiously.  “I will give you of the best we have.  I always know what people will like!  I will send the wine over. _Immediatamente!”_

Tim breathed a sigh of relief and smiled his agreement.

“What did you mean?” asked Tony.

“About what?” asked Tim who was finding it difficult to concentrate as he tried to identify the myriad delicious smells that permeated the restaurant.

“Just now.  When you said it wasn’t the end of an era,” said Tony.

“Oh,” said Tim, as if it was obvious.  “Well, it isn’t, is it?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Of course not.  You don’t really need to be worried you’ll never see Ziva again.”

Tony opened his mouth to deny that he was worried about any such thing but realised he’d never convince Tim and he really wanted to know why Tim didn’t think the earth had just rocked beneath their feet.

“Why not?” he asked.

“Gibbs,” said Tim.

“Where?” asked Tony, looking around and almost feeling the head slap arriving.

“Not here,” said Tim patiently.  “Gibbs will sort things out.”

“He will?”

“Of course.  He always does.  He won’t let the Director accept our resignations permanently.  When he comes back, he’ll sort it out.”

“If he comes back,” corrected Tony.

“This is Gibbs,” countered Tim, “You really think he won’t be back?”

Tony sighed, “No, you’re right.  Of course the Boss will be back.”

“Then we’re fine,” said Tim.

“I guess,” said Tony.

“You guess?”

“No, of course not.  It’s not a guess, it’s a certainty.”

“You could look more cheerful about it,” observed Tim.

“Sure.”

“I mean, we resigned to get Gibbs off the hook, didn’t we?”

“Of course.”

“And if Gibbs is off the hook … and when he comes back from this mystery mission … he’ll want his old team back.”

“You’re right.”

“And that was our plan, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And it was a good plan.”

“Yes.”

“And you came up with it.”

“I did.”

“You think it’s not going to work?” asked Tim in sudden anxiety.

“No.  Like you said, it’s a good plan.  And Gibbs is a cast iron certainty to bring it off.”

“Phew, you had me worried there,” said Tim.

“But …”

It was Tim’s turn to groan, “Is this a _but_ or an _although_?” he asked anxiously.

Tony paused to smile at the waitress who had just placed two glasses of a dark red wine on their table.  He took a sip from the glass before saying,

“It’s just …” he paused but then hurried on before Tim could interrupt and make him lose his train of thought, “It’s just that it occurs to me … that … perhaps it might be better to stay resigned.”

“Stay resigned?” said Tim incredulously.  “What do you mean?”

“Well,” said Tony after taking another swallow of his drink, “I’ve only ever really been a cop.  Don’t know how to do anything else.”

“You won’t need to,” said Tim in what he hoped was a reassuring way.

“But when I put my badge down on Vance’s desk … it felt kinda … _nice_.”

“Nice?”

“Hey,” said Tony defensively, “I didn’t expect to feel like that.  But it just occurred to me that resigning might be a good thing.”

“I know, we agreed that,” said Tim.

“No, I mean, staying resigned.”

“I don’t understand,” said Tim as he fortified himself with a gulp of his wine.

“You gotta admit that we sometimes sailed close to the wind,” said Tony.

“That’s appropriate.  We’re Navy,” said Tim.

“Ha ha!  You know what I mean.  This way we’ve resigned with our reputations intact.”

“ _Yes?”_ said Tim cautiously.

“We might even find ourselves admired because of it.  You know, loyalty is highly prized among LEOs.”

“It is?”

“Sure.”

“They won’t think we jumped before we were pushed?” suggested Tim.

“That’s a good point,” conceded Tony.  “A salient point.”

“Now who’s been at the thesaurus?” grumbled Tim.

Tony grinned but didn’t rise to the bait, “Even if they think it, they can’t prove anything.  Our records are clean.  We could probably get another job in law enforcement without any trouble.”

“You mean, leave NCIS?”

“Why not?”

“But it’s NCIS,” said Tim.

“That is true,” said Tony, “But I’ve been there twelve years and not got higher than Senior Field Agent.  And I can’t see that changing any time soon.  And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“How many years have you been on Gibbs’ team.  And you haven’t even got to Senior Field Agent.  Don’t you think you’d have got higher somewhere else?”

“I-I-I guess I never thought about it,” said Tim.

“Really?” said Tony sceptically.

Tim took a large gulp of wine and thought for a moment, “No, I don’t think I have,” he said finally, “It’s like … Gibbs sort of _hypnotises_ you into thinking his team is the best.”

“I’m gonna do some research into brainwashing,” said Tony with a hint of bitterness, “’Cos I think that’s nearer the truth.”

“I can’t believe it,” said Tim.

“OK,” said Tony, “I’ll acquit the Boss of brainwashing if you feel that strongly about it.”

“No, not that,” said Tim, “I meant that I can’t believe I hadn’t thought about how long I’d been doing the same job.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s interesting work …important work … but …”

“I know,” said Tony sympathetically, “Hey, you’re preaching to the choir.  And I’ve been there longer than you.  Trapped in the spider’s web.  And I respect the hell out of Gibbs, don’t get me wrong but … it feels _liberating_ to have stepped away.”

“So,” said Tim, “What you going to do?  Apply to the FBI?”  Tony shrugged.  “CIA?”

Tony winced, “No, don’t want to run into Trent Kort!”

Tim winced in sympathy.  “Homeland?  Morrow is still there, he’d take you.”

“Maybe,” said Tony.  “Don’t know.  Like I said, it’s a new thought.  An epiphany, you could say.”  He peered into his wine glass as if the answer might be there.  “Might not even be law enforcement.  There must be something out there for a strikingly good looking, intelligent, charming guy like me.”

“Who speaks much better Italian than I realised,” said Tim accusingly.

Tony shrugged his alarmingly Italian shrug again, “Always good to have a little obfuscation,” he observed.  “Can be good to be underestimated, you know.”

“I guess,” said Tim doubtfully.

“You don’t agree?” asked Tony in surprise.

“I think it’s OK so long as you don’t end up believing in your own self-image,” said Tim.

“What?”

“Well, you can get so used to letting people underestimate you that you forget how good you really are,” said Tim.

“Oh, you think that’s what I did?” asked Tony.

“From one former co-worker to another?” said Tim.

“Yes.”

“Then yes, I think that’s what you do.”

“Hmm,” said Tony, “I’ll take that under advisement, McFreud.”

For answer, Tim clinked his wine glass against Tony’s.  “To friendship,” he said.

“So,” said Tony, “What are you going to do?”

“Me?”

“You.  You going to hang around and wait for Gibbs to come back on his white charger?”

Tim suppressed a giggle at the picture of a grumpy Gibbs trying to get his white horse into the elevator.  “I don’t know,” he said, “Like you said, it’s an epiphany.”

“Right.”

“The world has rocked,” said Tim a little plaintively.

“I know!”

“I feel …”

“Melancholy?” suggested Tony.

“That’s it! Exactly,” said Tim.

Tony was hungry so decided to be tactful and not ask if he could see a tear in Tim’s eye.  “There’s lots of stuff you can do,” he said encouragingly.

“Yes?”

“Lots of IT McGeeky things,” said Tony vaguely.

“Yes!  Or I could start another book.”

The temperature in the restaurant seemed to drop by 20 degrees and the waiter paused in the act of grinding black pepper on to Tim’s bowl of minestrone.  Tony frowned, “I wouldn’t advise that, Tim,” he said blandly.

Tim opened his mouth to argue but there was something in Tony’s gaze that made him reconsider, “No, you’re right.  Been there, done that.  Time for something new.” 

Tony smiled.  The room returned to its previous temperature and the pepper drifted down on to the perfect soup.

“So what else could we do?” asked Tim.

NCISNCIS

Tim was never quite sure how it happened: somehow, during the course of the most delicious meal he had ever had, he and Tony had resolved not to go back to NCIS.

It was probably just a coincidence that Tony and Tim managed not to be in Washington when Gibbs finally returned … not on a white charger but certainly in hero mode … but that didn’t stop them from getting an eye witness account of Gibbs’ bemusement when he discovered that his loyal St Bernard and the Elf Lord weren’t waiting for him.

And Tim and Tony admitted to a feeling of melancholy (and even to a tear in their eyes) but they also admitted to being … happy!

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The characters aren’t mine but they’re back – well fed – in their boxes.
> 
> Why do I seem to feed them so much?
> 
> I'll leave you to decide what their new jobs are ...


End file.
